


7 - Cut From A Different Cloth

by distantstarlight



Series: 31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, Day Seven, Gay Sex, Hotel Rooms, John's Jumpers, M/M, Masturbation, Pining Sherlock, uniform or clothing kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 03:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10845792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: As he gets to know John Watson, Sherlock Holmes develops a very specific interest in some of John's possessions, in particular, his jumpers.





	7 - Cut From A Different Cloth

**Author's Note:**

> I knocked this together in two hours last night in between other things. There will be typos and assorted errors. I will deal with them asap(eventually) because I'm writing porn in all my spare moments.

John Watson was a soldier. Sherlock Holmes knew it from the moment they’d met. He hadn’t seen _surgeon_ , not immediately. The soldier was first, foremost. The lights had been unkind there in the morgue at Bart’s, accentuating wrinkles and bags, but they weren’t necessary to illuminate the bearing of a soldier, the footsteps of a soldier, the keen knowing eyes of a soldier. John Watson wore dark colours, black and white, dark and light, all his shades adding up to a uniform despite his casual appearance to the unobservant. Cane or not, John moved like a soldier still at war.

John Watson was a doctor. He saw and observed in his own way, reciting medical diagnoses, offering care and concern with every move. He nurtured and healed anything he could, even bandaging wounded feelings when Sherlock’s words had been too sharp, too pointed. He instantly became a part of Sherlock’s work. John didn’t need a lab coat to show that he was a medical man. He spoke with too much knowledge, too much surety for anyone to doubt his credentials. Anyone could forgive Sherlock for thinking of moments when he did, though, John cut a very striking figure when he worked at the clinic. Sherlock had orchestrated more than one situation that ended up requiring John’s medical services before he came home to 221 B Baker Street, just so the detective could see and observe his dearest friend in his work garb just one more time.

Occasionally John wore his kilt. Those few moments were rare treasures that Sherlock had captured with devotion and stored away in his mind palace. John was proud of his heritage, his gait proclaiming his willingness to take on any challenger who might dispute his right to display his colours. Sherlock didn’t say much to John during these times, it was just safer that way. Fortunately, John’s kilt rarely came out of his wardrobe, so Sherlock’s inability to banish his weakness entirely wasn’t frequently tested.

What no one might expect was how a _different_ article of clothing had affected the normally austere and cerebral scientist. The uniform, the accoutrements of a doctor, the kilt, any of those were understandable but instead, the things that made Sherlock’s mouth water and go dry at the same time was almost laughable. John’s jumpers were colourful offences against fashion. They were lumpy and prone to pills. They came knitted and crocheted, some with ludicrous patterns or images worked right into them. Sherlock wanted to pile all them onto his bed and roll naked in them and the impulse shook him deeply. He didn’t feel these kinds of things, not ever. _Why in the world would rolling in John_ _’_ _s jumpers be a satisfying activity? Why did he get hard just thinking about it?_

Sherlock couldn’t explain it to himself but the desire didn’t ebb. In fact, it grew worse as time went by. John wore his jumpers relentlessly in front of Sherlock, brazenly flaunting them in front of the detective, daring to take them off on occasion and just leave them around their common areas where any consulting detective might be able to stop and feel them, and smell them, and rub his face onto. _It was appalling!_ John hardly noticed when one or two went astray in the wash, ending up underneath Sherlock’s duvet where he could sleep on them at night before sneaking them back into the hamper, replacing them with newly worn ones.

Sherlock’s sheets were beginning to smell a little bit like John and it made him want to be in bed more, just to have that scent on his skin. He began to sleep naked and found himself rutting against the rough fabric of the jumpers until he ached with need, wishing to be closer to John somehow. In a slow evolution, Sherlock became accustomed to masturbating twice a day, once before he slept, and again as soon as he woke. He’d gone from sleeping on John’s jumpers to using a sleeve to lay over his bollocks as he stroked himself to completion, the end of the cuff near the base of his penis. Sherlock was careful never to soil John’s jumpers, not ever, but he wanted to. He’d never be able to explain away crusty semen stains, not even for science.

He would never have said a word to John about his habits if they hadn’t taken a case out of town. In his hurry, he didn’t give John much time to pack them up, rushing off to catch a particular train before they lost their lead. The chase was exhilarating of course but took them far from London. John had exactly two jumpers with him, and he alternated wearing them. Sherlock not only had no way of taking his single spare _but_ they had the misfortune of being required to share a hotel room so there wasn’t even someplace to have a bit of a wank in private and certainly not twice a day.

Sherlock told people his body was merely transport and for the most part, it was. Sherlock wasn’t ridiculous though and knew his biology would make _constant_ demands in a certain area whether he wanted it to or not. After becoming accustomed to regular and frequent orgasms, Sherlock learned that being suddenly cut off wasn’t good for brainwork, so after five increasingly frustrating days of enforced self-abstinence, he made his request out of desperation. “John, I need to you leave the room for about an hour so I can solve the case.”

“We had dinner just now, I want to read these files. Maybe I can still help.”

“Then go read them in the bar, you shouldn’t mind that, you can have a couple of drinks. Take my card.”

“Why should I? You’ve never needed me to go away to do your mind palace thing.” John wasn’t even looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock heaved a sigh and just blurted it out, “John, while you enjoy wanking in the shower, I do not. I need to lay on the bed otherwise I can’t get comfortable enough. We don’t have separate rooms. I _need_ an hour alone. Can you leave?”

“Fuck, Sherlock!” John’s face turned red, “That’s a bit blunt, isn’t it?”

“Apologies. It’s been days.” Sherlock regretted his straightforward demand. If he’d been even slightly less frustrated, he would have thought to ask John to go fetch files from the local constabulary. It was a useful task that he would have easily agreed to that would have taken the necessary amount of time. Sherlock knew with greater urgency that he wasn’t thinking clearly. He needed release and the personal lubrication packets in his coat pocket were begging to be used. “Just do me a favour, John, and let me have some time with myself.”

John huffed out an impatient breath and stood up, “Fine!” he snapped, “Be alone with yourself, what do I care? Clearly _I_ _’_ _m_ not needed.” He checked his pockets for his wallet, grabbed his jacket, and then, to Sherlock’s stunned surprise, John stripped off the jumper he was wearing and threw it right into Sherlock’s face. It was warm and smelled strongly of John. “There, don’t get come on it, and if you’re going to use someone’s clothing to get off on, make sure you don’t cover your entire body in very recognizable body wash and then put said item back into the laundry hamper where it makes everything else smell exactly the same way.”

Sherlock had never blushed before, not really. He’d feigned bashfulness, mastered the innocent waif look, and even gotten better at appearing penitent and regretful. He’d never truly been embarrassed before but he certainly was right then. _John knew. John knew that Sherlock had been using his jumpers and not for their intended purpose._ Even his neck felt hot, and it made his blush burn even more so that he knew that even his shoulders and upper chest were staining pink. “I...John…” he began to stumble out apologies and explanations.

For his part, John just looked annoyed instead of angry or disgusted, “Just don’t, Sherlock, I only have one other jumper with me and I don’t fancy having to find some kind of laundry service so…I’ll be back in an hour.”

“John,” Sherlock found that he didn’t want John to just go right then. He was experiencing a melange of sensations right then; embarrassment, mortification, and a very specific and urgent need, “Why are you letting me do this? Why have you _let_ me do this and said nothing thus far?”

John certainly didn’t need to allow it. Sherlock was fairly certain no other flatmate would cater to him in quite this way. John had obviously known what Sherlock had been up to for some time now, yet he hadn’t said a word in protest or chastisement, “You don’t like people, Sherlock. Maybe you don’t like being touched, maybe someone touched you the wrong way, I don’t know exactly. What I do know is that you’ve been sleeping with _my_ clothing for weeks now, and even though you haven’t actually come on anything, the wool really hangs onto odours, and I can smell you on the sleeves, even after washing. It’s been driving me mad. I could have brought them to a professional laundry but I don’t because…because,” John faltered for a moment but then just continued, “I like it. I like knowing that you’re getting off on my kit. It’s _mine_ , and not anyone else’s, and…well, I just like it. If it had been someone else’s kit, well, I don’t think I would be very happy with you getting off because of someone else.”

Sherlock was stunned by the degree of possessiveness in John’s voice. “You want it to be you?”

“Well, my jumpers at any rate, at least, since that’s the only personal thing about me you seem to want.” John sounded brave as if he were enduring a great hurt but did not want to make a fuss about it. It made Sherlock anxious as if he’d made a terrible error but he couldn’t fathom how, “I’ll just go, Sherlock. Text me when you’re done.”

John made to move but Sherlock hurried forward, physically barring him from exiting the room. “John Watson, I’m _settling_ for your jumpers. I’d rather have you if you’re interested.”

John gave him a hard look, “Is this some kind of temporary fix? When we get back to Baker Street are you going to delete this if I say yes tonight?”

Sherlock’s stomach actually turned at the idea of expunging anything to do with John from his mind palace. He kept everything, even the really annoying and unpleasant things like the sound of John having sex with someone up in his room, or how John always had to clean their fridge once a month, scrubbing all the interesting things right out of it so that Sherlock had to start all over again. “No!” Sherlock paused and then decided to lay it all out, “I admit that I’ve developed a very particular fetish but it isn’t actually about your jumpers.”

“What is it then? Wool? Cheap knitwear? What?” John looked stoic and it was making that panicked feeling continue.

“Your jumpers are like a disguise you wear. People say my coat is my armour, but your jumpers are yours. The difference is I am trying to keep people away from me, whereas you are trying to keep yourself away from people. You’re dangerous, John. You can kill anyone you choose, any time you choose. You have the knowledge as well as the ability. It terrifies you to know this of yourself so you dress yourself down to make other people comfortable. You do it so that they don’t feel threatened by you, won’t try to confront you. Why would they? All they see is a short dowdy looking man who has more grey in his hair than not these days, and who obviously isn’t a bother. It’s breathtaking. It’s gorgeous. Your bloody jumpers make me hard the way weaponry excites some, or lingerie thrills others. It’s ridiculous and absurd but some days I want nothing more that to be buried beneath all that you own so that I can feel how it is to be inside something that tries so hard to contain you. I hold the sleeve of your jumper so that I can imagine what your hand might feel like. I’d do absolutely anything if it meant I was allowed to have you and keep you, and you know I don’t have any moral boundaries, John. I literally mean _anything_.”

Sherlock didn’t notice how he’d stepped closer and closer to John until he was nearly looming over him. John didn’t move an inch, not backing away in any degree. “That’s a lot of power you’ve just handed me.”

“I _know_ , John.” Sherlock said helplessly, “You know I’m prone to addiction! What would you like me to say? It’s you, John Watson! I’d do anything at all to be closer to you, even committing myself to the ludicrous habit of wanking while bloody well cuddling your clothing? That’s what I’ve been reduced to. I don’t know what else you want me to do or say.”

John gave him a long steady look, “What if I told you to strip naked right now?”

Sherlock heart began to hammer in his chest, “Why?”

John looked him directly in the eye, “How do you like to come best, Sherlock? By hand? Mouth? Do you like to fuck? Top? Bottom? What do you enjoy?”

Sherlock wondered for a split second if he were hallucinating. If he was, then he was going for everything, “I want you to fuck me on the bed with me on my back and you standing on the floor so you can hold me open. I want to lay on your jumper and then when we go out for dinner later, I want you to wear it for me.”

John seemed to stop breathing for a second. His eyes closed but when they opened they were filled with a devilish heat that Sherlock had never thought to see directed at him, “That seems fine.” John’s voice was mild but he closed the distance between the two of them and scooped Sherlock right up. Sherlock gasped as John tossed him onto the bed easily, “You’re eating more. That should have strained me a bit.” John was so strong. Sherlock was a tiny bit ashamed that something so primitive was such a turn on but it was, as was seeing John’s chest hair, and hard firm muscular body. He was so aroused that he simply lay there while John peeled him out of his clothing, his warm knowledgeable hands caressing all his newly exposed skin as it was made available, “You’re unfairly beautiful.” John said in an accusing voice.

“You’re breathtaking,” Sherlock spoke with utter sincerity. John looked a bit surprised but then his sassy smile came right back. John didn’t hesitate to strip himself completely, comfortable in his own body, and unmindful of the rather stunning erection he had waiting for Sherlock, “Absolutely perfect.”

John was everything. He commanded Sherlock, gave him orders to follow. He knew exactly how to prepare Sherlock, talking him through the process, easing him into it until he was ready. John was Sherlock’s entire world when their bodies were joined at last and the pleasure his skills were able to evoke made Sherlock babble promises and entreaties in equal amounts if only John would promise to fuck him forever. The sound of lube and John’s condom were bizarrely erotic, and Sherlock wished he’d recorded it somehow so he could hear how base he’d become, moaning and begging, a hot wet mess of need that only John Watson, soldier and doctor, could satisfy.

Their position allowed John to thrust hard as well as deep, angling himself exactly right to make Sherlock yelp with every thrust. John’s hand worked over Sherlock’s cock, and it was better than any fantasy Sherlock had ever managed to put together. The jumper beneath Sherlock’s body was rasping against his back every time John bucked into him and Sherlock hoped it left burn marks as evidence. He wasn’t expecting John to let go and pull him up, his hips still pumping hard as he pulled the jumper away from the bed. Quickly, John managed to use one hand to turn it inside out, “This will be a bit sticky but…”

John covered Sherlock’s cock with it. Reaching inside the woolly pouch he’d created, John resumed stroking Sherlock, “I want you to come in it. Even after we wash it, a bit will always be in it. I’ll have it on me when I go to work, or when I’m out with you on a case, or at the pub with friends. I’ll be able to just touch my jumper and remember this moment. When we get home, I’m going to spend days fucking you and letting you mark my jumpers. You know I have a lot. My cock is going to be in your arse for ages.”

Sherlock groaned deeply and ejaculated exactly as ordered. His toes curled and his fingers seemed to freeze into claws as he gritted his way through the sharpest most intense orgasm he’d had in years. John was fucking him fast and steady now, chasing his own release. Sherlock’s body was almost too sensitive but he ignored the discomfort. John wanted to fuck him and he wanted to be fucked by John. _He_ _’_ _d satisfy John so completely that the doctor would never need sex from anyone else ever again!_ “I’m yours, John.” John’s cry was guttural as he jerked and rutted. Sherlock closed his eyes and felt euphoric as John orgasmed inside him. Blood tests were necessary. He wanted John’s come inside him but they needed to be safe first.

John slumped over him, breathing hard for a long time before he stood straight again and extracted himself. He used his thumb and forefinger to secure the condom before he removed it, discarding it in the bin the second he had it knotted closed. He helped Sherlock move his limbs since he wasn’t currently capable of doing more than practically pouring off the mattress into a human puddle on the floor. They lay side by side until John felt around, searching for his soiled jumper. He used a tissue to dab away most of the mess but didn’t attempt to clean it more than that. “We’ll get dressed for dinner in a bit.”

“Alright.” Sherlock suddenly felt compelled to say something. Rolling to his side, he pressed his naked body against John’s, “You know you don’t actually need to wear a dirty jumper to dinner. It’s you I want to be with, just you.”

John smiled and when he looked at Sherlock, his eyes soft and tender, “I feel the same way about you. I just want to be with you, not anyone else, and thanks but I will be wearing my sex-trophy to dinner.”

“How is it a trophy?”

“Are you kidding? I seduced Sherlock Holmes without a word with these jumpers. If that’s not a trophy, I don’t know what is.”

“Ridiculous.”

“Yes, you are, and I love you for it.”

There was a long moment of silence. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

There was another long silence.

“I love you too.”

“We’re not going for dinner, are we.”

“Order in, John, you need to have sex with me again, right now.”

“Fine, let me put my sex-trophy to the side.”

All talk of trophies, clothing, and dinner ceased as both men lost themselves in one another, both of them satisfied with their choices. A good deal of time went by before John was scrabbling around to find his jumper again, this time stuffing the sleeve into Sherlock’s mouth to stifle the ecstatic shouts so that their neighbours wouldn’t be calling the front desk with complaints. It made Sherlock blush but also smile knowing that John’s jumpers were destined to be a part of so much future pleasure and enjoyment, a treat that was especially for him and him alone. John Watson was his doctor, his soldier, and finally, his lover. Sherlock would never have to settle for the least now that he had it all.

 


End file.
